


Steady

by stardropdream



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Established Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation Interruptus, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 02:27:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1287814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin comes home from work in time to see Arthur dive beneath the sheets, but Arthur's not quick enough to hide what Merlin clearly just saw.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steady

**Author's Note:**

> Written nominally with the prompt "going solo", but I always get too bored to write a legit masturbation fic, so just have Merlin topping Arthur instead.

It’s been a long day, really, for Merlin. Perhaps not the longest day of his life (and he’s had many of those), but long enough that he is completely ready to just get back to the flat he shares with Arthur (and how much better was it to know that Arthur would be there waiting for him?) and just lounge around in his pajama bottoms and socks for the rest of the evening. It’s taken him weeks – months, honestly – for Merlin to be willing to leave Arthur’s side, but even if he can live in relative comfort without necessities such as money, it still is good to have it (especially with an increasingly needy and demanding would-be-king-again) – and so he’s begrudgingly returned to the small job he’d acquired in the last five years. It’s nothing too fancy. Just a little retail job at a bookstore, and he knows he’ll move on eventually because he always feels bad taking a job that could go to someone else who could use the experience, since he’s lived hundreds of years and has enough degrees in various fields to keep a small nation sustained. Regardless, it’s good to get out and stretch his legs a bit, and even though he knows that, secretly (or not so secretly), Arthur hates to be alone for prolonged periods of time with just his thoughts and his confusion with twenty-first century shenanigans, it’s still good for Arthur to have some time alone to himself. Or himself and the television, which Arthur finds equally mystifying and confounding. 

Regardless, he’s just ready to collapse. He opens the door, not bothering to announce his presence since Arthur has a tendency to know immediately when Merlin gets home, usually bombarding him with some kind of question about a pop culture reference that completely flew over his head or asking if he brought back that strange fish soo-shee and if so, he’s sending him right back out again for the curry instead. And that is definitely something Merlin never really anticipated being a right pain in the ass – the pop culture references, not the aversion to sushi (because Merlin likes it well enough but doesn’t love it; he mostly just brings it home because it rattles Arthur to think his preferences are being ignored). But, no, the pop culture is definitely something to get used to, trying to cover a millennia of trivia and minutia that Arthur has zero context for. 

So, unconcerned for now and anticipating some kind of question about just why a chipmunk is dramatic or what Jack the Ripper did, Merlin tosses his jacket onto the hook and slips out of his shoes, untucking his bag from around his shoulder and digging around for the menu for the new Indian place that opened up down the street and walks over to the bedroom, throwing the door open and—

Merlin looks up from his bag in time to see Arthur kneeling on their bed, knees bent apart and toes hooked into the sheets. And the line of his body is completely torso-skin-hip-skin-long-lean-thigh and his hand is reached down between his legs and it’s—

Merlin drops his bag and Arthur turns to look at him. 

“Fuck, Merlin,” Arthur says, flushing a bright red and scrambles to pick up the sheets, clearly struggling to regain his composure, stumbling over words in his attempt to explain himself and Merlin just watches the way his fingers scrabble to hold on the sheets, but his hand is slick and wet and Merlin tries to speak, to set Arthur’s mind at ease, but he really, really, _really_ can’t find words, his brain short-circuited and his mouth full of cotton. (And Arthur would normally be so proud of himself to stun Merlin speechless, since he claims that Merlin never shuts the hell up.) 

“Arthur—” he manages to choke out.

But Arthur is talking a mile a minute (or at least he would if any words were coming out at his progressively gaping mouth), the blanket clutched around him like he’s some fainting maiden, and his eyes are blown wide and his cheeks are flushed a really pretty pink. “Shit, Merlin—I was… I was just—” And then he seems to regain himself enough to puff his shoulders up, looking pompous and prattish and as if he didn’t just have his fingers stuck up his arse. “What are you doing here?” 

“I _live_ here,” Merlin shoots back which, in hindsight, is kind of a really damn stupid thing to say because yeah, obviously he lives here. He lives here with Arthur. Arthur, who has made a mess of their bed and had his fingers stuck up his arse a few moments ago. 

“I was just—um.” And it really shouldn’t be adorable to see Arthur so damn embarrassed and trying to find a way to talk around the fact that Merlin just caught him fucking himself with his fingers, and Merlin can _see_ how hard Arthur’s cock still is, through the sheets and blanket, and suddenly the battle between sushi and curry seems astoundingly, shockingly, pathetically uninteresting. Monumentally unimportant. Stunningly dismissive. 

“You were…” Merlin begins and trails off, which he finds kind of laughable, because fucking hell he’s been alive for hundreds of years, this is hardly the raunchiest thing he’s ever stumbled across or been a part of. All the same, it’s _Arthur_ , beautiful, shining, golden Arthur, perfect and pretty in the fading sunlight of the early evening, his blue eyes wide and explorative even as he blushes himself into mortification. He swallows thickly, wetting his lips as he crosses over to the bed. 

Arthur ducks his head, and even the back of his neck is flushing a very pretty and attractive red and Merlin just wants to nibble on the tips of his ears and brush his fingers through his hair and coo at him while simultaneously dirty-talk him into the pillow, which should be strange but then again, Arthur is equal parts hot and adorable and it’s painful how much he wants him in this moment. 

“I just—” Arthur attempts, yet again, to work his way through all the abortive sentences and seek some kind of explanation or dismissal. 

“You’re so cute,” Merlin says, or, well, more like coos. Because to hell with it.

Arthur glares at him, eyes narrowing. “Don’t think I’m above strangling you with these sheets.” 

Merlin shakes his head, not apologizing, but instead reaching up and tangling his fingers in Arthur’s soft golden hair and dragging him in for a deep, possessive kiss. Arthur makes a soft sound and kisses him back, parting his mouth a little to let Merlin deepen the kiss, even as he gets a little needy and demanding himself a moment later, pressing up closer to Merlin. 

When Merlin finally pulls back from the kiss, he’s distantly aware that they’re both breathing heavier now, not just Arthur, and that Merlin is apparently quite content just going ahead and straddling Arthur’s knees without realizing. He can feel one of Arthur’s hands worming its way underneath his shirt, tracing up over his stomach. Merlin mutters out a quiet curse and kisses Arthur again, kisses his lips and his jaw and his neck and his ear, and his temple and nuzzles obnoxiously sappily into his hair, smiling and breathing hard and whimpering out his name and he’s hardly done anything at all so he really shouldn’t be coming apart like it’s the first time, but, well, walking in on Arthur like this is unexpected but pleasant. 

“I want—will you let me—?” Merlin babbles out and presses his lips to Arthur’s skin, kissing over his neck and biting back the groan that he feels mimicked in Arthur’s chest when he presses his hand there, feeling the flutter of his heart, the deep rumble of a moan barely suppressed. 

“Fuck,” Arthur says, and then, softer, “Yes.” 

Merlin scrambles awkwardly from Arthur’s lap and kneels between his thighs instead, tugging the sheets down away from Arthur’s body. He pushes Arthur down onto his back, hands lingering on him, eyes fixed on where Arthur’s cock is flushed and heavy where it lies against his stomach, wet at the tip and Merlin has to restrain himself from leaning down and taking it into his mouth like he has several times before. 

He does lean down, but only to bite gently at Arthur’s hip instead, letting his tongue brush over the jut of his hipbone, hand on his stomach and delighting in the shocked intake of breath, at the way the muscles shudder beneath his hand. 

“Show me,” Merlin breathes against Arthur’s hip, and kisses down over a trembling thigh, hand brushing over downy hair. 

“Fuck,” Arthur says again, softer, and not necessarily with embarrassment. His face is flushed and his chest is heaving, but he whispers, “Yeah. Yeah, alright.” 

Arthur gropes blindly around him until he finds the small bottle of lube there from earlier. Merlin recognizes the bottle – he’d bought it a few weeks back, not with any hidden thoughts in mind but mostly just to help slick up the hasty handjobs they’d tended to fall into after their usual sushi versus curry arguments that always ended in sloppy kisses and Arthur falling asleep with his head tucked under a pillow and Merlin’s ear pressed up against his chest, marveling at the way his heartbeat slowly steadied out, consistent and strong. For all the time Arthur had been awake now, most nights all Arthur wanted was to hold Merlin, and Merlin was never, never would be, opposed to being held. It’s a surprise – although maybe it shouldn’t have been – that Arthur’s shaking hand can work the cap of the lube off swiftly, spreading more lube across his fingers. 

And fuck, even that’s gorgeous to watch, and Merlin’s mesmerized, watching Arthur as he glances at Merlin, that pretty flush blooming across his cheeks again, before he lowers his eyes and spreads his legs a little, sliding two fingers up and into him, spreading himself, and Merlin’s breath hitches in time with Arthur’s, and he watches, mesmerized still, as Arthur breathes out a quiet curse and starts moving his fingers again, pumping the two fingers into himself slowly, almost hypnotic in the quiet, _slow_ slide of his slick fingers. His hips jerk upward slightly as he works, and his breathing comes short, his chest heaving and stomach concaving as he moves his fingers inside himself in an insistent press. Arthur’s thighs shake a little as he spreads them more, lifting his hips, his eyes closing as he slowly starts to relax, less self-conscious of Merlin’s eyes on him.

Merlin is content to watch him, his face flushed, hands on his thighs, smoothing his thumbs gently over him and lifting his fingers up, stroking and petting over his hips, watching the flex of Arthur’s arm and hand as he works himself, watches the way Arthur’s cock plumps up between his legs, practically begging for Merlin’s attention. Merlin does his best to restrain himself, only peppering little kisses across Arthur’s thigh as he watches him, lips pillowing over the soft skin. 

Merlin scoots down a little more, kissing his knee, reaching out and grasping the bottle of lube for himself, slicking up his own fingers almost instinctively, the action familiar and pleasant even as the lube is chilled across his fingers, waiting to warm up against his skin. He pulls Arthur’s thigh up over his shoulder and slides up closer, letting one finger slide in to join Arthur’s fingers. 

Arthur sucks in a sharp breath, eyes blinking open to stare at him. “— _Merlin._ ”

“Is it alright?” Merlin whispers, watching how Arthur’s mouth goes slightly slack and cheeks flushed, and looking so utterly breathtaking that Merlin almost wants to cry at the sight of it. “Too much?” 

“No,” Arthur says, breathless and just managing to hold back the small stammer, shaking his head to emphasize. “No, it’s—it’s good.” He blushes more when Merlin grins at him and hooks his finger up into him, watching Arthur tilt his head back and groan, “Fuck, it’s really good.”

And then Arthur slides his fingers out, which Merlin takes as invitation to slide more of his own in and he grins a little, manic and desperate to hear more of those sounds from Arthur’s slackened lips. He isn’t disappointed, because Arthur moans and drops his head back and Merlin watches the curve of his throat, watches the way his adam’s apple bobs as he gasps for air. 

“Do you—” Merlin begins, trying for conversational and just not quite managing it. He scoots himself up further, kissing over Arthur’s stomach and hip, ignoring his cock for the moment, sliding his fingers into Arthur deeper and hooking up. “Do you… do this a lot?” 

Arthur shakes his head, panting slightly as Merlin twists his hand and Arthur whimpered out a soft, breathless _yes, there._

When he opens his mouth again, he manages to work out some words, shaking his head again: “Not a lot — I just. Sometimes I just — need it.” 

He manages to blink his eyes open, licking his lips and looking at Merlin, and Merlin’s hand falters for a moment where it’s pumping out a steady rhythm into Arthur, two fingers hooking up inside him, preparing for a third finger. He feels so tight, too tight – he knows that Arthur wouldn’t have done this much, if at all, usually, and he feels that deep, steady thrill at doing this for him, of hovering over him, of seeing the way Arthur looks at him, needy and desperate and haughty, demanding. 

“Yeah?” Merlin offers, breathless, nodding his head absently at the words. “You need it?”

He pushes in a third finger, scissoring, delighting in the way Arthur arches up, gasping out and nodding. 

“Want it to be you,” Arthur offers in a quiet voice, as if he is embarrassed, as if he has any reason to be embarrassed, when Merlin has been holding himself back, clinging to Arthur and needing Arthur but waiting for Arthur to take that step, to indicate. His entire body shudders and he gasps out, looking at Arthur in wonderment and desire, loves the way Arthur ducks his head and blushes at that expression. 

“Yeah?” Merlin whispers.

“Shut up,” Arthur says, as if Merlin is about to tease him for it, when all Merlin wants to do is just give him what he wants and press into him. He shifts closer, pressing down against him, pumping his fingers into Arthur’s willing body, pressing his own crotch up against Arthur’s thigh, letting his cock rub against his skin through his trousers. 

“No, tell me,” Merlin whispers, running his free hand up over his thigh and across his hip, stroking along his side, soothing. “Arthur, tell me.”

Arthur closes his eyes, and cries out softly when Merlin presses up insistently, stroking and searching until he finds his prostate and then is relentless in the stroke of his fingers. He’s panting by the time Merlin is done, his hips stuttering up, trying to get contact for his cock. 

“I—” Arthur gasps out, just managing to hold back a whimper Merlin knows Arthur would deny ever uttering. And then the words rush out of him, stumbling to get out, “I want it to be you – I think about it all the time – ah, fuck, _there_ – and I just – I want you so badly, Merlin.” His face flushes and he squirms down on Merlin’s hand. He stutters out, soft and haughty, “So make yourself useful.”

Merlin barks out a short laugh, and bites at his stomach for his troubles, but he obeys Arthur – knows he’d always obey these kinds of commands – and keeps stroking his fingers up into him, harder now, stretching him and teasing him. Arthur whines out softly, and then seems embarrassed that he made the sound – especially when Merlin laughs, giddy and breathless. 

“Show me,” he whispers quietly, and guides Arthur’s hand down, helps him curl his fingers around Merlin’s wrist. He kisses his stomach and looks up at him, smiling, still giddy. “Show me, Arthur.” 

Arthur nods and shows Merlin, letting out little gasps and quiet sounds, biting his lip as he shows Merlin how to move, as if Merlin couldn’t already guess. Merlin lets Arthur control the stretch and preparation, licking and kissing over his stomach and shifting to press his forehead there, looking down at their hands as Arthur guides Merlin’s fingers up into him, fucking himself on them. He’s thrusting himself on Merlin’s fingers with abandonment now, and Merlin aches to touch him all over, to just bury himself in Arthur, and that deep affection blooms inside his chest, centuries old and sometimes surprising him in how deeply it aches still and his breath stutters out of him. 

“Arthur,” he whispers, voice tight, and he lifts himself up, looking down at Arthur as Arthur’s hips shudder down onto Merlin’s hand. “Just – look at you.” 

Arthur blinks up at him, taking a moment to process the words, and then he smiles a little at him, his lashes low and sweeping over his cheekbones as he works his hips down, jutting and frantic. 

“Can’t exactly look at myself,” he pants out, rolling his hips down. And then rolls his eyes, even if it’s all bluster and Merlin can see how embarrassed, yet happy, he is. 

“You’re perfect,” Merlin whispers, and grins like the love-struck fool he knows he is. Arthur’s blushing and his smile is open, vulnerable, and Merlin shimmies up and bends down in order to kiss him, deeply. He splays his free hand over Arthur’s chest, pressing there, feeling the steady hummingbird stutter of his heart and just kisses him deeply, as if devouring him. 

Merlin flexes his hand until Arthur curses quietly, shoving down deeper onto Merlin’s hand, moaning – and then he moans out Merlin’s name and Merlin forgets to breathe at all. Arthur rides his hand as if it were his cock, and Merlin deepens the kiss, pressing down closer to him, pressing against Arthur’s naked body, feeling how he tenses and flexes beneath him, arching up and pressing closer. He smoothes his free hand over Arthur’s thigh, brushing gently. 

“You’re gorgeous. You’re perfect,” Merlin whispers, dragging his lips over Arthur’s jaw, teeth dragging across his earlobe for a short moment, breathing out his name and other endearments, rocking against him in time to the rolls of Arthur’s hips, fucking him with his hand and wishing he’d thought to pull his clothes off from the start, unwilling to pull away from Arthur. 

Arthur whines deep in his throat and Merlin shifts his hips in response. 

“Merlin,” Arthur whispers, both annoyed and aroused. “Fuck – come on.” 

He reaches out, pawing at Merlin’s belt – but he doesn’t know modern clothes that well yet, despite everything (zippers still perplex him) – and he’s fucked enough that he doesn’t have the attention-span to work through the mystery of a button and zip. Merlin laughs, breathless again, and nods, pulling away from Arthur regrettably in order to shrug out of his clothes. He throws them somewhere over his shoulder, not caring, and presses down against Arthur again, kissing him deeply and pressing to him cock-to-cock, swallowing Arthur’s gasp. 

“You’ve probably done this before,” Arthur says softly, squirming beneath him, gasping into his mouth.

And Merlin laughs in his face – and immediately regrets it, because the laugh comes across as _oh, yes, I’ve fucked thousands of people._ (And it isn’t _thousands_ , although he has lived for centuries so it’s probably a few hundred at least – still, not the approach he’s going for.) He kisses Arthur gently, soothing, brushing one hand through Arthur’s hair, cupping his jaw and cradling him close. 

“Yeah,” he admits, soothing down the ruffled feathers because Arthur is giving him a sharp look – and vulnerable. Merlin smiles gently, nipping at his bottom lip. “It’s alright – just. I’ll take care of you. It’s alright. Arthur—”

Arthur’s hands, shaking slightly, press against Merlin, drag down his chest, and one hand curls around his cock, just holding it – and this much is familiar, this much is something that Arthur feels confidence in, stroking Merlin until Merlin’s mouth falls open and he shudders out a hitched, happy gasp. 

And then Arthur tugs a little, and guides Merlin’s cock down to press up against him, panting slightly, chest heaving as he blinks up at him, eyes wide and somehow innocent despite how debauched he looks – mouth parted and slack, lips red, hair disheveled. 

Merlin strokes his hands over his flanks gently, soothing, shushing when Arthur makes a deep whining sound when he pulls on Merlin’s cock again and has Merlin press up against him, enough that the head of his cock pushes in. He hisses out sharply and Merlin leans in, kissing his jaw and cheeks and lips, murmuring his name and quiet encouragements. 

He holds still, not pressing in any deeper, waiting until he feels Arthur relax below him, push through that bone-deep initial panic of being penetrated for the first time. He strokes his hands over him, curling one hand around his cock and stroking him gently, smiling at him as he nuzzles against his jaw, pressing cheek to cheek and brushing soft kisses over his ear. 

“Arthur,” he whispers out a half-moan, hands shaking as he strokes Arthur.

“Wait,” Arthur gasps out, pushing his hand away and shaking his head. He seems embarrassed when he whispers, “I won’t last.” 

Merlin kisses him. 

Eventually, Arthur shifts his hips and draws Merlin further in, huffing out a soft moan as Merlin slides into him all the way inside, bottoming out with a soft groan. He gasps out Arthur’s name and Arthur nods, turning his head to find Merlin’s mouth again and kissing him deeply. Merlin can feel the smile in the kiss, and it soothes him enough to give an experimental, shallow roll of his hips. 

Arthur practically whimpers, arching up under him, clinging to his shoulders. One hand shifts up and curls into Merlin’s hair, holding tight and buried deep and Merlin kind of loves it whenever Arthur does that so he just makes a happy murmur into the kiss, pushing his cock up deeper inside of Arthur, setting the beginnings of a steady pace, thrilling in the way Arthur shifts to meet him. 

He’s just about to start truly thrusting before he’s taken by surprise by Arthur’s body suddenly clamping down on him and Arthur arching up like a bow, squeezing around Merlin’s cock and groaning loudly, coming. 

Merlin holds still, letting Arthur writhe beneath him, reaches down to stroke his cock and stroke him through his orgasm, watching his face carefully – always watching his face in these moments, loving the way Arthur’s mouth goes slack, his brow knitting before relaxing as he sighs out Merlin’s name. 

Merlin doesn’t dare move, even once Arthur goes boneless beneath him, sighing out contently, wiping absently at the come on his stomach before seeming to remember himself and blink up at Merlin. Merlin smiles at him, about to open his mouth to tease him, but Arthur is lifting his hand and hauling Merlin down for a sloppy kiss – needy, desperate, and completely Arthur. Merlin moans, going limp in Arthur’s arms, still buried deep inside him and struggling to keep from moving. 

“Come on,” Arthur orders into the kiss. “ _Move._ ” 

Merlin doesn’t need to be told twice, resuming the pace from before, and thrusts into Arthur’s pliant, sated body. Arthur curls one leg around Merlin’s hips, keeps him pressed in close and deep, so Merlin can only manage a few short thrusts, buried deep, but that’s alright – it’s fucking perfect, really – and his breath comes short as he catches and holds Arthur’s eyes, blown-black and wild with pleasure and adoration, and his heart lurches in his chest again – just thrilling, just absorbing that Arthur is _here_ , real and steady beneath him. 

His hand finds his chest, presses against the fluttering beat of his heartbeat and stays there as he thrusts into Arthur, who makes soft, pleased sounds even as he’s still too sated to respond too much beyond that, his cock softening between them. And then Merlin is coming with a choked and broken cry, pleased and aching, still shaking off all those centuries of longing, still adjusting to the fact that everything he wants, everything he’s ever wanted, can be his now – that Arthur is here, Arthur is with him, Arthur is holding him as he comes. The cry that wrenches from his throat is soft and broken, but happy, and he chokes out a quiet sob he would be embarrassed to admit he made if not for the way it makes Arthur arch up, curling his arms around him and holding him close against his chest, where Merlin can feel the rise and fall of his chest. He can hear the way Arthur’s heart starts and skips a beat when Merlin whispers his name, whispers that he loves him against the curve of his jaw. He feels the way his heart bursts into motion again when Merlin comes and comes, gasping out his name, dragging his lips until they catch on Arthur’s stubble, hips thrashing wildly. 

When he comes down enough to pull away from Arthur, he doesn’t try to get too far away, and Arthur doesn’t let him – keeping his arms wrapped around him, keeping him pressed up against him. He sighs out, shaky, and Merlin nuzzles into Arthur’s neck, kissing at the pulse point and just breathing there, waiting as his body slowly relaxes and he goes boneless and complacent in Arthur’s arms. 

His hand stays pressed over Arthur’s chest, though, fingers splayed over where he knows his heart beats. 

He turns his head, blinking up to see Arthur watching him, expression soft. He smiles when he meets Merlin’s eyes. 

“We should definitely do that again,” Arthur says. 

Merlin grins, dopey and happy, and nods. “Definitely.” 

He strokes over Arthur’s chest, making a slight face at the come that’s still smeared across Arthur’s stomach. With a flash of magic, he cleans them both up, and hears that familiar snuffling snort of Arthur’s when he’s torn between being annoyed at such an easy clean-up but also grateful that Merlin didn’t try to leave his arms. 

He strokes over his chest, feeling that steady heartbeat slowly returning to its resting state. He rests his cheek there against his chest, feeling the bite of his chest hair but not caring enough to pull back. He closes his eyes. 

“Next time you want to do something like this,” he says, sleepily, “You can just tell me instead of waiting to do it yourself when I’m at work.”

Arthur snorts, cheeks flushing, but sounds sleepy when he mutters, “Shut up.”


End file.
